Is Speed Dating The Answer To Dating App Fatigue?

More and more, New Yorkers are on the lookout for that certain something to anchor them to the city—be it the perfect apartment, the ideal job to fund said perfect apartment or a person to share a perfect night with, who, ideally, would be open to splitting the rent for the perfect apartment down the line. How romantic!

While New York remains the only city where dating "up" for personal interest is widely accepted—like the bouncer at Paul's Baby Grand understanding why you ghosted him to date the concierge at Soho house—it appears that pinpointing who's who in the pool of successful singles in the city has become more challenging.

In recent years, dating apps have embraced the concept of exclusive and refined dating communities, such as Raya for those who have been gifted Parade PR, and The League for those who have family in the oil industry.

My approach is simple: I navigate the monotonous task of swiping on Hinge and Raya, evaluating personality alignment and whether they have a job or not with potential matches. Initially, these apps seemed exciting and innovative, quickly identifying instant attractions while saving time. However, like all things shiny and new, the allure faded with the repetitive cycle, leading to a wearisome experience. And the thought of explaining to my parents that I met someone on "the apps" lost its charm.

App fatigue set in, encountering the same archetype of people, leading to monotonous conversations and dates that often went nowhere—even if I dared to leave the house. But, the term "speed dating" felt unsexy, akin to a '90s sitcom sequence. Despite initial hesitation, the idea of transitioning from "we met on the apps" to "we met at a social club" became increasingly appealing after extensive Hinge scrolling.

"New Yorkers are so freaking busy; we don't have the time to scroll on apps. We might as well gather ten people in one room and, in a way, scroll in real life," says Victoria Van Ness, the founder of Ambyr Club, a members-only social club for eligible singles.

"People on the apps don't have a mutual respect for dating, and the good thing about Ambyr is that they treat it with more respect because everyone has been pre-vetted and has paid a certain amount of money to be there," — $150 per event, to be precise. Victoria mentions this in a private room away from the red-light-filled space and bar underneath a quietly luxurious Chelsea hotel. Stepping into the underground club felt like entering a lavish basement party, hosting New York's most elite, overly-employed, and attractive individuals—carefully pre-vetted and handpicked.

Despite being informed that this event was exclusively for gays and girls, marking the reopening of their social mixers, I couldn't overlook the imbalanced ratio of gay men to women. "I thought there would be more girls," a lone woman exiting early remarks. With the scarcity of single and approachable women, seemingly written off for various reasons, attention quickly shifted to my accompanying friend.

While lacking the formal structure of speed dating, a format that wouldn't return until January 2024, the event certainly exuded a similar essence with its fast-paced conversations. Attendees were notably earnest about finding a connection that night. Unlike many other romantic social clubs, the focus here was based less on how horny you were (with minimal make-outs and dry humping) and more on the sincerity of the quest for a long-term partner.

As I made my second round around the bar and engaged in a brief conversation with Victoria, my friend had already navigated a full discussion with two guys they had their eyes on, but unfortunately, with no success. The second guy, gracefully letting my friend down mid-conversation, simply said, "Let's see who else is here," before making a swift exit. Despite observing others deeply engrossed in meaningful conversations and exchanging longing stares, we couldn't shake the feeling that, as non-members, we were encroaching on the carefully curated vibe. Or I wasn't approaching the meetings as seriously because I hadn't invested the $150. It's possible. And it was a thought that crossed my mind as I sat lonesome next to a couple of girls making out intensely under the red lighting.

While the ambiance was incredibly welcoming and, overall, a great time – something I'd consider diving into again, especially if they refined the hosting demographic for that particular night – the question of what it took to secure approval for this exclusive members-only club lingered. Was it as stringent as Soho House, where social media was strictly off-limits, or as unforgiving as Berghain, where phones were banned entirely and a rigid dress code was enforced?

The cloak of exclusivity piqued my interest, as I was genuinely determined to explore whether an average person like myself, with a below-median level of influence (2500 Instagram followers, albeit with Vogue contributions), could gain entry with a spare $150 a month for dating endeavors. How were we supposed to aim for a higher dating league if we weren't privy to the standards?

"We want people with full lives at these tables," says Victoria. They look for those into unique hobbies like "whale watching," "origami," "charity work," and "knitting." Along with those who take dating incredibly seriously, which means no ghosting without probable cause, or you will be banned. Later, admitting, "I don't like leaving my house," surprisingly earned me praise. "It's dating for people who prefer not to go out," says Ambyr Club’s PR personnel Sydney Schiff. Ambyr's innovation and fast-paced environment might be the perfect social club for those less into dating apps in a generation where social media limits socializing and outings are rare due to daylight saving. "Weirdly, I'd want to go back if I had the money," said my friend, who, despite earlier experiencing a gentle rejection, left with a few phone numbers.

"I've got Raya, Tinder, Hinge, Bumble, and The League. I check them once a day," reveals Frenchie, a 25-year-old Ambyr member. Despite recent attempts, including a date that week from the apps, Frenchie hasn't had much luck. "They [apps] typically don't work for me; I feel like I'm always trying to initiate a conversation." Having gone through an application, a virtual interview, and a waitlist, Frenchie was approved for Ambyr and was eager to pay the fee because "there's only so much you can say to a person online before it gets boring." Many I spoke to echoed this sentiment about app fatigue and the desire for more engaging conversations in social mixers.